


Family

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (or just not any real mentions to canon), A little angst, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, But mostly family fluff, Implied Mpreg, Infertility, M/M, Some Romance, and Sherlock and John... are getting there, but Mycroft and Greg are married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-22 22:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: One word. Endless meanings.This work is FINISHED and will be posted before November 15th.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my contribution for the Fandom Trump Hate’s auction of last year. Thanks to the lovely Lesley for her donation as auction winner and she also offered to beta this little tale, for what I’m eternally grateful :D  
> I hadn’t wanted to post it all in a rush, but it came to my attention the deadline was fast approaching and well… nothing to be done about it :P I must warn you there might be some minor changes, since I hadn’t gotten the final version back, but I really didn’t want to miss the deadline ;)  
> So, without further ado, enjoy?

It’s not the end of the world, certainly.

And yet it feels as if it is. Rationally, Mycroft knows he’s overreacting; unquestionably, the news is upsetting but he had been suspecting such a diagnosis for a long while. He and Gregory have been married for a little over three years and while both might be slightly past their prime, they’re far from old. Having already ruled out any problems on Gregory’s side, the only logical conclusion was that there was something wrong with him. Then again, unfertile Omegas are fairly rare, so…

Of course now the doctor has confirmed that there is something wrong. Something very wrong indeed.

He hears bits and pieces of the doctor’s explanation, but his brain effectively shut down after the initial diagnosis. Funny, that, considering his brain never seems to quiet down, certainly not when he wants it to.

He keeps his hands clasped over his knees, in an effort not to show how affected he’s been by the news. Gregory had originally insisted on coming with him to the doctor’s appointment, but a last minute call from the Yard had made it impossible. A part of Mycroft had been relieved, truth be told; he had had his suspicions about what the outcome would be and he hadn’t actually wanted his partner to be there, uncertain about how either of them would react. At least this way he’ll have some time to process the information and hope to come to terms with it before having to face his husband’s own feelings on the matter.

And yet now he feels his Alpha’s absence keenly, a ridiculous silly part of him wanting to be comforted by his mate. He might have had an inkling of what the doctor would say, but there’s no denying he had hoped for a different outcome. After all, infertile Omegas are one in every million or so (he doesn’t know the real statistic, but he doesn’t think he’s being overdramatic) and what were the odds that he happened to be one of them? None of his Omega ancestors had had any trouble conceiving; why would he be any different? 

He knows he’s being ridiculous, but he can’t completely shake off the feeling of somehow having failed. Of course he would excel in every aspect of his life, but in this.

“While your condition makes conception impossible for you, there are still some options open to you and your Alpha,” the doctor is telling him, expression kind and friendly. “There’s no need to give up on hope just yet, Mr. Holmes-Lestrade. Adoption, or maybe surrogacy even though it’s fairly rare--”

But Mycroft is no longer listening, so he simply nods absentmindedly, too busy trying to keep his emotions under control. He has been affected by the news, that’s easy enough to see, but he won’t allow his  _ feelings  _ to get the best of him. He’s not about to break down in front of this near stranger; if nothing else, he still has his pride.

“Thank you for your time, Dr Lester. I appreciate your expertise,” he says as calmly as he can, standing up on slightly unsteady legs. He smiles at the man perfunctorily, turning around sharply and leaving the office without giving him any chance to reply. He has heard all he needed to hear and now he needs some time to process things.

He certainly has a lot to think about.

* * *

 

 

“What are you going to do then?” Sherlock asks, in his usual blunt manner. He can obviously tell how badly the news has shaken Mycroft and yet he makes no useless inquiries about his emotional state.

Most people would think that his brother is being rather harsh, but Mycroft is thankful for his approach. He does not wish to dwell on his feelings or deal with platitudes at the moment. His relationship with Sherlock has never been “normal” by most people’s standards, but despite all their constant bickering, they do care a great deal for each other. Sherlock would sooner die than outwardly show how much he cares and/or how keenly he feels his brother’s pain, but Mycroft knows he’ll be there for him, come hell or high water.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he confesses quietly. “Telling Gregory first, naturally and afterwards…” he waves a hand vaguely, staring at his half-drunk cup of tea. “I suppose that if he’d like to ask for a divorce--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock interrupts, with a roll of his eyes. “And please don’t even suggest it. Lestrade would be insulted at best, completely brokenhearted at worst. He’s your mate. Do you really think that little of him?”

No, not really. But then-- “I… we wanted to have a child. Several, in fact. It’s a subject we’ve discussed extensively; despite our complicated schedules, we… I…” he shakes his head, frustrated with himself. “I’m not sure how he’ll take it.”

Sherlock hums thoughtfully, taking a small sip from his own cup, watching him closely. “It’ll be fine,” he assures him, expression perfectly blank although there’s a hint of something in his eyes Mycroft can’t quite identify. “I do not think he’d have gone through so much trouble  _ courting  _ you of all people to call things off over something like this.”

Mycroft’s lips curve upwards briefly. “I suppose you’re right. He does continue to put up with all of your mad stunts.”

His brother huffs, but he’s smiling too. They sit in silence for a while, each nursing their tea, lost in their own thoughts.

“Is it genetic?” Sherlock asks suddenly and Mycroft looks at him, one eyebrow arched. “Do you think I might have the same condition?” he clarifies and Mycroft can’t help smiling a little at that.

His little brother, who always scoffed at the idea of offspring, often bemoaning the sheer idiocy of the reproductive imperatives of Omegas, suddenly worried about his chances of someday having children of his own.

How much love can change someone.

“I do not know,” Mycroft confesses quietly. “Circulus Ovum Imperfectus is very rare, and there hasn’t been a great deal of study. You’ll have to consult a doctor to know for sure.”

Sherlock hums once more, standing up abruptly and heading for his desk, taking John’s battered laptop even though his own is right next to it. Mycroft huffs, amused, and stands up, taking that as his cue to leave. His brother will get lost in his own research for a while; it’s useless to stay around.

Besides, he really needs to go talk to his husband. In truth, his little trip to Sherlock’s was only an attempt of delaying the inevitable and while he knows his fears are unfounded, he can’t help feeling a bit anxious about what is to come.

Oh well. Nothing for it.

It’s time to go home.

 

* * *

 

“It’s just…” he murmurs softly, trying his best not to fidget on his seat, giving away his unease. “I really wanted… I’d built up this little  _ fantasy  _ inside my head of being pregnant and having children, our own children, and I know it’s silly, terribly so and there are other things we can try but I… I…” he trails off, gesturing helplessly, staring at his husband pleadingly.

“Oh love,” Gregory murmurs, sliding closer to him on the sofa, taking his hand in his. “It’s okay. It’s… well, we knew there was a chance the doctor wouldn’t have good news and while we were hoping for the contrary… well. But we’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Mycroft sighs, resting his head against the back of the sofa. “I know. I’m being terribly emotional about this.”

Gregory chuckles good-naturedly, squeezing his hand. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when you would admit to having feelings.”

Mycroft glares playfully and his husband laughs. “I’ve admitted before to having feelings,” he argues, pulling his hand away and crossing his arms over his chest. “I agreed to marry you, didn’t I? Isn’t that a declaration of feelings in its own right?”

“Of sorts,” Gregory admits, still smiling. “But you’ve never admitted to being emotional before. Not even at our wedding.”

Mycroft hums thoughtfully, allowing the other man to pull him into a hug. “Well, now that we’ve discussed  _ my  _ feelings… what about yours?” he asks, perhaps a tad fearfully. His husband has taken the news remarkably well, but his insecurities have been rearing their ugly heads ever since he heard the doctor’s diagnosis and he can’t help but be slightly worried about what Gregory might say.

“I’m sad, of course,” his partner says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But as long as I have you, there’s really nothing else I need. So if it’s only the two of us for the rest of our lives… well, I can live with that.”

Mycroft knew that already, he realizes, but it’s reassuring to hear it all the same. “I love you,” he murmurs quietly, so quietly he’s not even sure his companion heard him, particularly considering his face is buried in the other’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, darling,” Gregory says firmly, rubbing a hand over his back. “I love you and we’ll be fine. Our family will just a little smaller than we originally thought.”

“As I said, there are other options,” Mycroft murmurs softly. “But I’m not ready to discuss them just yet.”

“It’s a lot to process,” his husband agrees, kissing his forehead. “What do you say that we go to bed and forget about all this for a while?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Mycroft argues with a smile, already standing up and taking his partner’s hand. “Using every excuse to get me into bed.” Gregory laughs, looking honestly happy, pulling Mycroft into a hug and kissing him on the lips softly. “Can you blame me?” he asks, pressing their bodies close together, making Mycroft’s breath catch. “You’re unfairly attractive and I’m lucky to have you.”

“Nonsense,” Mycroft argues, a soft blush covering his cheeks. It might have been more than five years since they first started dating and Gregory might use every chance to remind him of how attractive he finds him, but he still finds it hard to believe. “I’m the lucky one.”

“All right,” Gregory murmurs absentmindedly, nuzzling his neck. “We can agree we both are lucky,” he says, licking a long stripe along his neck, making Mycroft’s knees go weak.

“We’re not going to make it to the bed if you carry on like that,” he informs him as seriously as he can, but it’s hard to when he’s enjoying his Alpha’s attentions far too much.

“Maybe that’s the plan,” Gregory whispers, biting his ear and Mycroft yelps, making them both giggle.

“Incorrigible, I tell you.”

“And you love me anyway.”

Well. There’s no way to deny that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here’s the new chapter! Enjoy ;)

“Sherlock? What are you doing?” John asks, tiptoeing around the mess of scattered papers and piles of books their sitting room has turned into over the last two days. Sherlock has been a bit… eh…  _ engrossed  _ with some sort of research and John has only received grunts whenever he has dared to ask, so, for the most part, he has left the other man to his devices.

Now, however, he might need to draw a line before they’re buried completely underneath Sherlock’s research; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. At least this time there doesn’t seem to be any entrails involved.

“Sherlock?” he tries once more, cringing a bit after noticing the mess their shared desk has become. Naturally, Sherlock seems completely oblivious to it. “Sherlock, what’s all this?” Once again, his flatmate just grunts and John sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He has abandoned all attempts of denying to himself he’s in love with the madman he lives with, but on days like this, he seriously questions his reasons.

And his sanity, of course.

He considers the merits of trying to insist on Sherlock’s attention and promptly decides it’s useless: whenever he’s this focussed on something, it’s impossible to distract him long enough to eat or sleep, let alone explain what the hell he is doing.

Resigned to his fate, John figures his best shot at not getting drowned by papers, is by trying to organize them, hoping to god that they aren’t already organized in some incomprehensible Sherlockian way and he’s about to get shouted at.

He starts picking up papers randomly, muttering under his breath about thoughtless flatmates who leave their messes for someone else to pick up, when one of the titles suddenly catches his attention. He stops, reading the article carefully and then starts reviewing all of the other documents he has picked up. Most are from medical journals, some have highlighted sections and brief notes in Sherlock’s scrawl around the edges.

“Sherlock?” he asks again, getting another grunt for his troubles, but this time he’s not about to let the matter go. He closes the distance between them, careful not to step on anything and comes to stand right in front of Sherlock, closing the laptop, earning himself a surprised  _ hey! _ from his companion. “Sherlock, what’s all this?” he asks, gesturing helplessly at their surrounding mess.

“Research,” his flatmate and friend deadpans and John rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I know that,” he argues, trying to stay calm and collected. “I meant…” he trails off, uncertain what he meant. It’s not really any of his business, is it? Not unless it’s related to a case, of course, but Sherlock’s notes seem to suggest… “Why are you researching infertility?”

Sherlock stares at him thoughtfully, in that way John has come to understand means he’s deciding the merits of actually sharing information on whatever he’s doing. He finds himself standing a bit straighter, hoping he’ll get a real answer, although not expecting it.

Sherlock nods to himself, seemingly having come to a decision although he doesn’t look terribly happy about it. If anything, John would say he looks… worried?

What is going on, exactly?

“Mycroft’s doctor informed him he can’t produce children due some  _ issue _ with his ova and I was trying to ascertain whether or not it might be a genetic trait we share,” Sherlock explains, tone airy, as if it was nothing of great relevance and, John supposes, maybe it isn’t for him. He feels a stab of sympathy for Mycroft and Greg, but mostly he feels confused.

“Okay,” John says, nodding hesitantly. “But why? I mean… umm...”  _ why would you care?  _ is what John wants to ask, but again, that’s none of his business, is it? It’s just… well, Sherlock has always expressed derision concerning biological matters and an absolute lack of desire for any offspring, so John is a little puzzled. He supposes Sherlock might have changed his mind, of course, but why? Has he met someone? Does John know said someone? Are they already dating? Surely not, surely he’d have noticed another Alpha sniffing about-

“I’m trying to find an article I read some time ago,” Sherlock is explaining, apparently not seeing anything amiss with John’s awkward questioning. “I printed a few others that seemed interesting too.”

John nods once again, unsure if he wants to press the matter or not. On one hand, he’s truly curious about his friend’s new found interest on reproduction and all it implies, on the other…

Well. If he continues down this road, there’s no telling what he might find.

“Are you… umm… is this a merely intellectual interest or do you have any practical concerns?”

Sherlock tilts his head to the side, watching him oddly. “What exactly are you asking, John?” the Omega asks, something in his eyes suggesting he has a very good idea of what John is asking, but looking for confirmation.

Well. Here goes nothing, John supposes.

“I mean… are you… do you want to have kids of your own? Because… I know it’s not really any of my business, but I thought… you always said…”

“Ah,” Sherlock murmurs, leaning back on his seat, still watching John with that curious expression on his face. “I… Well. As you know, I’ve never understood why people seem so interested on finding a mate and all that involves.” He scrunches his nose and John can’t help the small fond smile that comes unbidden to his lips. “I didn’t understand what the fuss is about, really.”

_ Didn’t.  _ Does that mean…? “But you understand now?”

Sherlock purses his lips, his eyes fixed on him and while John knows he should find his friend’s searching stare a tiny bit worrisome, considering Sherlock’s ability to read a person’s story at just a glance, all he can think about is how terribly alluring it is to be the sole focus of Sherlock’s considerable attention.

“I think I do,” the consulting detective murmurs, hurrying to look away, biting his lip guiltily. “But that’s not… I mean… I’m nowhere near ready for that type of commitment. A child is... not something I want just yet. And of course there’s also my… umm… intended’s feelings to consider.”

John’s heart might be breaking, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. “I see,” he murmurs, a bit dejectedly, missing the way Sherlock is staring at him once again, somewhere between amused and frustrated. “Well… umm… then… what? You want to be prepared, in case…?” he trails off awkwardly, wondering why he’s torturing himself like this.

“John, you can be terribly dense at times,” Sherlock says, but his tone is full of fondness, the tiny smile on his lips most endearing. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

John blinks, watching him uncomprehendingly and Sherlock finally huffs, opening up the laptop once more, eyes alight with amusement. He goes back to his research, ignoring the way John is still staring at him in confusion, that small almost shy smile still firmly on his lips.

John blinks once again and forces himself to look away, figuring he’s not going to get anything else out of Sherlock, not right now at least. He’s not quite sure what has just transpired between them, but he has become used to these weird, apparently full of meaning conversations with Sherlock that always leave him reeling, uncertain of what exactly he is supposed to have understood from his friend’s enigmatic words.

Something that feels an awful lot like hope keeps fluttering inside his chest, although he’s not quite sure  _ why _ .

And yet, he can’t help smiling a little as he goes back to cleaning up after his messy, but very dear friend.

* * *

 

 

At the sound of the laptop finally being closed, John looks up from the case-study he had been reading. He had decided that it might be useful to familiarise himself with the articles Sherlock has printed, so for the past couple of hours he has been reading the more medical documents, hoping he’d be able to provide his friend with some insight eventually. He knows Sherlock is bright, incredibly so, but John’s a doctor and while he’s no expert in reproduction, particularly Omega reproduction, he’ll probably be of some help with the more medical bits of Sherlock’s research.

“Sherlock?” he asks, staring at his friend who has gone very still,  fingers linked beneath his chin as he thinks about whatever he has just read. John stands up slowly, going closer to the younger man, careful not to make any noise that might startle his companion. “Sherlock? Are you all right?”

The Omega’s eyes flick in his direction briefly, before going back to staring into space. John sighs, wishing he knew what to do or say: Sherlock doesn’t look upset, not exactly, but something about his whole posture…

“I thought…” Sherlock begins, before interrupting himself, biting his lip harshly. “Would you come with me to see a specialist?”

“Of course,” John answers, without stopping to think about it, not even for a second. He has always had a hard time trying to tell Sherlock  _ no _ and on the few occasions he has managed, his friend has always found a way to make him change his mind. “When?” he asks, after a brief pause, trying to figure out the logistics of said visit inside his head. In a first visit they’ll probably just get some tests done, he doubts there’s much the doctor can actually tell them, so it should take a couple of hours, at most.

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock says, locking eyes with him now and John finds himself incapable of looking away, no matter what. “Better sooner than later.”

John frowns, noticing how tense his friend looks. “It’s not the end of the world, Sherlock. Even if the doctor says you’re infertile too--”

Sherlock smiles a little, shaking his head. “That’s not… that’s not what I’m worried about, not exactly.” He bites his lip, staring at John once again. “I’m a little more worried of the doctor saying the exact opposite.”

“What--?”

Before John can finish his question though, Sherlock is already out of his seat, reaching for the latest article he printed. He skims over it, a slight frown on his face, before nodding to himself once, resolutely. “Here,” he says, offering the piece of paper to John. “This might shed some light on what I’m thinking.”

“Sherlock--” John begins once again, but his companion has already left the room, heading straight to his bedroom, where he knows John won’t follow, not without express invitation. The Alpha sighs, cursing his friend’s flare for the dramatic under his breath, before he starts reading the article he has been handed. His brow furrows as he reads, growing more and more confused with each paragraph.

Well. This is… unexpected.

He looks at Sherlock’s closed door, a part of him thinking it’s exactly the sort of insane thing Sherlock would do.

“I thought you and Mycroft didn’t get along!” he yells at the closed door.

“We don’t!” Sherlock yells back, his tone just the slightest bit petulant.

“Of course you don’t,” John murmurs to himself, smiling. “That’s exactly why you want to help him.”

He thinks that’s one of the many reasons why he loves Sherlock so: he has so many hidden depths and he cares so much, so willing to go the extra mile for those he cares about, even if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Love might make fools out of all of us, but he thinks he made a particularly wise choice in who he fell in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone? Any idea what Sherlock is up to? ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter! Enjoy!

Being invited by your brother-in-law for dinner at his flat might not be a completely uncommon occurrence in certain families, but it certainly is in the Holmes-Lestrade one. Greg likes Sherlock a great deal, really, despite his oddities and his tendency to be… well,  _ brutally honest _ and his lack of any regard for politeness. There’s also the fact that if it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t have met Mycroft and there’s also how many cases he has helped him solve. Nevertheless, Sherlock isn’t exactly happy with Greg showing up at his flat when he doesn’t have a case for him and he spends a ridiculous amount of time bickering with Mycroft when they happen to run into each other so, all in all…

Well. The invitation is a bit weird.

“Do you think he’s up to something?” Greg asks a bit warily as he finishes getting dressed. Mycroft has long finished, of course and is sitting patiently on the bed, reviewing something on his phone.

“Yes,” Mycroft replies simply, not looking up from whatever he’s reading.

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Greg questions, although he’s not really expecting an answer. He suspects Mycroft is too busy with work to pay him any real mind, as the case often is whenever they make plans in the evening. His husband does try to take time off, especially when Greg happens to have a day off too, but he understands how important his mate’s work is and so Greg doesn’t really mind much if some of the time they spend together Mycroft is busy on his laptop or phone.

“We’ll find out, one way or another,” Mycroft says after a brief pause, putting his phone away, a small smile curving his lips. “I prefer to have him actually telling us for once, rather than finding out in a different manner.”

Greg cringes a little as memories of some of the most daring stunts Sherlock has pulled over the years come to mind. “Fair enough,” he says, frowning a little as he looks at his husband. “Am I underdressed?”

Mycroft rolls his eyes fondly. “We’ve been through this, Gregory. Just because I prefer to wear suits for any given occasion, doesn’t mean you have to.”

Greg huffs, slightly amused, approaching his partner and leaning down for a kiss that Mycroft returns eagerly. “And we’ve been through the whole you calling me ‘Gregory’ thing too,” he argues when he pulls back, smiling.

Mycroft rolls his eyes, standing up in one smooth move. “Of course. You pretend you don’t like it, but you actually do.” He smirks as Greg splutters indignantly, but he quickly gets silenced by a kiss. “Come on now, we’ll be late.”

Greg huffs once again, but follows willingly, a part of him still a little wary of why Sherlock has invited them over, but figuring Mycroft is right: whatever his darling brother-in-law is planning, they’ll find out one way or another.

And better sooner than later, he supposes.

* * *

 

Sherlock is a ball of barely contained energy and that never bodes well for the future. Greg tries not to feel overly concerned, but he fails miserably. It’s been a while since he saw Sherlock like this, certainly not since John moved in and so he’s not sure what to think.

He spares a quick glance to John, who has busied himself serving tea. Dinner was a more or less tense affair, with Sherlock evidently wanting to say something, but biding his time for it. And now that the meal and pleasantries are done, Greg supposes they’ll finally find out why they’ve been invited over.

John looks up right then and hurries to look away when he meets Greg’s eye, making the Inspector frown. He wonders if something happened between Sherlock and John, but they don’t seem to be at odds with each other (they actually look even more well attuned than ever) and Greg bites his lip, considering. Maybe that’s the source of Sherlock’s nervous energy, although…

Sherlock is chattering about one thing or another, something that adds to Greg’s sense of something being off. Sherlock is not one to bother with mindless chit chat and so this is completely out of character. Evidently there’s something big going on here, although he can’t quite figure out what.

And then John sits down once again, looks at Sherlock who is still talking a mile per minute and places a hand on his thigh, stilling its nervous bouncing. Sherlock looks at him briefly and John smiles at him in a reassuring manner. The younger man nods then and turns his attention back to them, expression serious but now calmer.

Huh. Maybe they’re finally giving them the  _ happy announcement _ ? Greg can’t help smiling at the thought: after John’s first… _ talk _ with Mycroft, Greg had laughed when his husband had announced his brother and John would end up bonding before the year was up. He had been mistaken, of course, but if this is going the way Greg is thinking, then he wasn’t off by much.

_ Good for them,  _ he thinks, squeezing Mycroft’s knee, well aware of the sappy smile on his lips. He’s always been a romantic, there’s no denying that, but after meeting his mate he has become an utter sap.

“So…” he prompts, after a few minutes of silence, figuring Sherlock might be a little too nervous to start. “You have news?”

Sherlock and John share another look and the doctor smiles encouragingly. Sherlock nods to himself once more, clearing his throat and opening his mouth to speak, but the words seem to have deserted him.

Greg nearly laughs at that, feeling oddly giddy. Who would have thought the day would come when Sherlock Holmes would be rendered speechless?

He spares a quick look in his husband’s direction, thinking he’ll be as amused as he is himself. Mycroft however, is frowning a little, probably worried about Sherlock and Greg wonders if he can deduce something from Sherlock’s uncharacteristic reticence. Surely this isn’t something serious? Surely Greg hasn’t completely misread the situation?

“I had some tests done last month,” Sherlock starts finally, not looking directly at either of them and Greg frowns, immediately concerned. Oh god, it seems he really got it wrong, but what… “After our… conversation,” he continues, quickly looking at Mycroft but dropping his gaze right away and licking his lips nervously. “The results came back last week.”

Mycroft sighs, leaning back on his seat, grabbing Greg’s hand where it still rests on his knee. Greg is still unsure where this is going, but he has an inkling of what sort of tests Sherlock had done. Mycroft’s condition might be extremely rare, but all things considered, maybe—

Then again, Sherlock isn’t bonded or thinking about getting bonded (unless Greg wasn’t that off the mark after all, but if that’s the case, this is one weird way to start the conversation) so why…

“As it turns out, my ova are perfectly fine,” Sherlock continues, now a little more cheerful.

Oh, he’s going to murder him. Logically, Greg understands this is good news and he’s happy for Sherlock (and John, he supposes) but can’t he see this is a sensitive topic for them? Greg has done his very best to avoid thinking much on the subject; there’s nothing to be done about it, after all and he is happy with his husband, even if…

Mycroft squeezes his hand and he realizes how tense he has gone. He’s breathing harshly, his frustration and anger making his scent sour and he forces himself to take a deep breath and relax, telling himself Sherlock doesn’t mean to be this insensitive, he probably hadn’t considered how the news would affect them—

“It’s not like that,” John says, obviously sensing the dark mood settling over him and Mycroft. “Sherlock didn’t mean it like that,” he assures Mycroft, leaning towards him to pat his arm, but seemingly thinking better of it immediately. He must have noticed Greg’s sour scent and everyone knows one does not try to touch someone’s Omega when the Alpha is already in a bit of a mood.

“Yes, no, of course,” Sherlock backpedals, a look of utter horror on his face. “I wouldn’t… I didn’t…” he trails off awkwardly, shaking his head in frustration. “That’s not at all… I mean, I’m not rubbing this in your face,” he says, leaning closer to Mycroft, expression open and vulnerable.

Mycroft closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and Greg watches him in silence. He aches for him; he knows that despite his perfectly collected and self assured exterior, Mycroft is actually full of insecurities and this whole… issue has taken a toll on him. Greg has done his best to reassure him, but Mycroft doesn’t seem to truly believe any of the reassurances he speaks.

This last month has been difficult for them. And he’s not quite sure this conversation with Sherlock will help to improve things one bit.

“I’ve been doing some research!” Sherlock continues after the brief and entirely too tense silence, his tone slightly desperate. “I think… well, it hasn’t been tried, of course, but…” he groans in frustration, pulling at his hair. “This is more difficult than I thought,” he murmurs dejectedly to himself.

Next to him, Mycroft sighs and Greg squeezes his hand in silent support. “Kindly get to the point, brother dear.”

“I think there might be a way for me to… assist you. There’s a research team at the University College Hospital, who have been working on in vitro fertilization—”

“You know that Omegas--”

“It’s very innovative!” Sherlock interrupts. “And with my adaptations… they agree with me that it could actually be possible to… you know… since we have very similar genetic material…”

Mycroft is frowning now and Greg is officially lost. John is looking between the brothers, a little concerned and Greg frowns, wanting to ask a million questions but not quite daring to ask them just yet.

Sherlock and Mycroft seem to be having a silent conversation, consisting of narrowed eyes and arched eyebrows. Greg has witnessed many of these conversations in the past, of course, but he can never quite get used to them. He knows how much the brothers care for each other but their constantly arguing facade sometimes make him forget.

“This… process you speak of must be in the early stages of research,” Mycroft says finally. “Not to mention your…”adaptations” must be _ theoretical _ …An experimental test on human subjects--”

“Has been already approved,” Sherlock interrupts and Mycroft arches an eyebrow. “Sort of. I… I might have called in some favours.”

“From whom?” Mycroft demands, sounding slightly horrified. “And what about the researchers? Surely--”

“Well, you remember Molly Hooper? She might be involved in said project, and so I figured--”

“Sherlock--”

“Well, do you want to give it a try or not?” the younger Omega snaps, pouting a little. “After all the trouble I went through…I had to  _ meet _ with people, Mycroft!”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Spare me your dramatics, little brother.” He pauses, brow furrowed, looking unhappy but not overly so. If Greg had to venture a guess, he would say he’s considering very seriously Sherlock’s offer, although he’s personally still a bit unsure of what his brother-in-law is offering. “Gregory, what do you think?” Mycroft asks, turning to him and Greg blinks confusedly.

“I’m… I’m actually not sure what we’re discussing?” he offers and Sherlock huffs, earning himself a sharp look from John which makes him pout some more and brings a smile to Greg’s lips.

“Sherlock’s…  _ friend  _ can probably explain it better when we visit her, but I could explain the basics to you,” John offers helpfully, a kind smile on his lips. Sherlock is watching him oddly, but he doesn’t comment, watching Greg’s reaction from the corner of his eye.

Greg nods, even if a bit unsure.

This visit has turned to be a very odd one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the new chapter! Enjoy!

“Hi Sherlock!” Molly greets cheerfully; perhaps a little too cheerfully and Sherlock smiles in what he hopes is a convincing way, inwardly a bit worried his fears will prove to be right. While he has been talking to Molly on the phone quite a lot these past weeks, conveying his findings and asking for her opinion, he could not possibly tell if she still fancied herself in love with him. He doesn’t understand how that came to pass in the first place and they haven’t really seen each other in years, so it’d be logical to assume that’s not the case anymore, but he has learned feelings are rarely logical.

Luckily it seems that’s not the case, since Molly doesn’t stare at him besottedly but turns her attention to his companions. Sherlock lets out a relieved sigh, earning himself a curious look from John, but he just shakes his head and the doctor doesn’t press the subject.

Molly starts idle chit chat with the others (well, with John and Greg in any case) as they make their way through the building. Mycroft as usual follows in complete silence, probably lost in his own thoughts. Sherlock always thought he was fond enough of Molly, seeing he had actually encouraged her visits between terms while they had been at the university, insisting that Sherlock needed to make friends (and failing to see the irony in that, of course) , but he’s never been the talkative kind and he probably does have many things in his mind. Besides, he supposes, despite the woman’s cheery attitude, Mycroft isn’t one to be particularly friendly. Sherlock for his part, looks around, only half listening to Molly’s words. He likes the woman, he really does: she was one of the few friends he made in university (the only real one, if he must be completely honest) and he always enjoyed talking to her and working with her in the labs. She’s the only person from those days he still keeps contact with, although most of their conversations take place on the phone. Then again, he always liked Molly better on the phone, since there weren’t any infatuated smiles to deal with, not to mention awkward silences when she stared a little too much. For the life of him, Sherlock can’t figure out why she had liked him that much, but it seems she’s finally over her  _ crush  _ and so Sherlock’s fears of this whole visit being a little too awkward were completely unfounded.

He smiles to himself, pleased with the development. The situation is weird enough without having to add anything else.

“Take a seat, please!” Molly says, ushering them into a small office. The place is a little cramped, truth to be told, but there seems to be some sort of order to the mess. There are just a couple of chairs in front of the desk, which the Alphas insist he and Mycroft have (although both roll their eyes at the gesture) and Molly takes a seat on the other side of the desk, still smiling in that sweet, pleasant way of hers.

“So,” Molly says after a brief pause. “Unfortunately, Doctor Robins, who is my research partner and head of the study wasn’t able to join us today, but she’d like to talk to you as soon as she’s able if you decide to go forward. I could begin explaining the process, if you wish?” she offers, looking between the four men in front of her and when all but Sherlock nod she continues. “Right, so, basically we’re going to give you each,” she says, pointing at Mycroft and Sherlock, “injections of FSH, that means follicle stimulating hormone,” she explains at Greg’s confused look. “One dose daily, for around twelve days, to stimulate the production of eggs.

“The goal is to get from eight to fifteen eggs that will be harvested by aspirating fluid from the follicles in the uterus. I know it doesn’t sound very pleasant, but it’s really quite painless and you’ll be under general anesthesia anyway,” she hurries to add and Sherlock notices his brother has gone a bit grey, having never been a fan of medical procedures. He knows the fact that Mycroft is willing to submit himself to all of this says a great deal about his wish to be a father.

“All right,” Mycroft murmurs, after taking a deep breath. “Then what?”

“Well, the plan is to replace the DNA in Sherlock’s eggs’ nucleus with Mycroft’s. We’ll use a microscope and pick out the best and most mature eggs from you both. The nucleus and cytoplasm will be removed from Sherlock’s eggs and replaced with the same from Mycroft’s. Basically, the outer part of Sherlock’s eggs, the Corona radiata and Zona pellucid, is just being used as a shell to hold the nucleus and cytoplasm from Mycroft’s. Since their DNA is similar to begin with, we’re hoping we’ll manage to fool Mycroft’s body into thinking the eggs are his own and once they’ve been fertilized, for which, of course, we’ll be needing a donation from his mate,” she says, sending an amused smile in Greg’s direction, who immediately blushes furiously. This prompts a chuckle from Molly, although she sobers up quite quickly, probably because Mycroft has narrowed his eyes at her and the woman clears her throat once, before carrying on. “Then we’ll implant two or three of the most viable ones, hoping that at least one will make it full term. The rest can be frozen for future use if they are viable enough and if you wish it.

“It’s… well. Our own research is in its very early stages and is primarily geared towards advancing mitochondrial replacement procedures in Beta ova at this point, but Sherlock’s idea to adapt the procedure for infertile Omegas is brilliant and does seem feasible considering what we do know right now, so we’re very excited to try it out. Although of course we can’t guarantee success.” Molly pauses, looking a bit sheepish. “The only way to know for sure if it works, would be to try it. Normally this would be trialed extensively in the lab but if you are all willing the procedure is safe. Physically at least. Emotionally though… ”

Sherlock knew all this already, of course, and he had shared a bit of the procedure with Mycroft, but he supposes it’s not quite the same as hearing it from an actual doctor and researcher that isn’t your younger brother. Molly continues smiling pleasantly, reassuring, making Sherlock think she really does have a perfect bedside manner.

He looks at his brother, who is staring at his partner. They seem to be sharing a completely silent conversation and Sherlock can’t help the fond smile that comes unbidden to his lips at the sight. As children, he and his brother used to do that all the time, much to their mother’s frustration. It had been nice, he remembers, having someone who understood him so well words weren’t even needed. Of course things changed over time (for reasons neither of them like thinking about much) and Sherlock had thought they both had lost (to an extent, at least) that particular type of connection, doubting there would ever be someone who could understand either of them that well. And then of course, Lestrade had come along.

He hadn’t truly believed things would work out between them (as he had told Lestrade hundreds of times) but here they still are. Once they had bonded the contentment radiating from them both, even Mycroft who was usually so good at masking his feelings, was palpable and Sherlock remembers all too well standing next to his brother as witness (feeling terribly amused at the idea of his very proper brother  _ eloping _ ) a few months later, hearing him say “I do” and thinking maybe (just maybe) not all hope was lost. Surely if his brother could find someone to love him as deeply and passionately as Lestrade did, Sherlock would be able to do it too. He turns to John then, who is staring at nothing in particular, but who seems to sense he’s watching him for he turns to look at him right away. They share a smile: a little thing that probably would mean nothing in any other situation, but Sherlock understands that this connection he has formed with John is special and, if he allows himself to pursue it, it’ll grow into much more than the deep friendship they now share.

The thought makes him a bit anxious, truth to be told, but not entirely in a bad way.

“All right,” Mycroft says finally, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. “I… we’ll trust your expertise on the subject, Dr Hooper.”

Molly beams brightly, evidently pleased. She turns around briefly, searching for something amongst the mess of scattered papers behind the desk and produces a few documents which she presents them with.

“Great!” She exclaims, pushing the documents towards them. “You read this and sign here and here,” she says, pointing at the dotted lines on the documents. “I’ll be right back with the injections for you to take away and I shall explain in more detail how we’ll go about the next few weeks.” And with that she’s out of the room, a spring in her steps and Sherlock rolls his eyes fondly.

All in all, he thinks this is going marvellously.

* * *

 

 

“I think it might be wiser to let me do the injections,” John tells him later, once they’re back in Baker Street after a rather long day at the hospital. They spent a ridiculous amount of time signing more paperwork that seemed to come out of nowhere, including quite a bit for Sherlock as technically this procedure is his brainchild and thus his intellectual property, getting the supplies and listening to the more detailed explanation of the procedure, along with the risks and secondary effects it could have.

“That might be wiser indeed,” he comments off handedly, although he can’t deny the words sting a little. Of course, considering his past drug habit it’s just logical to let John do it, and actually he would prefer it himself, but still…

Sherlock sighs, dropping himself on his chair, tired but reluctant to forgo John’s company just yet. There's something niggling him in the back of his mind and while a part of him does want to have this conversation, there’s another part of him that’s terrified of how things could change afterwards. Regardless of how John takes his words, things will irremediably change between them.

His flatmate sits in front of him, in his usual place, watching him with a curious expression on his face and Sherlock swallows, somewhat nervously.

“Are you quite all right?” John asks after a while, looking worried.

“Yes, just tired,” Sherlock says flippantly. “Are you all right?” he asks after a beat, watching John’s reaction very closely. He knows he and John have never really discussed their relationship or their expectations of it, but a part of him, silly as it might be, isn’t exactly at ease with going through this whole ordeal without John’s blessing.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” his friend asks, which isn’t an answer at all. Sherlock links his hands beneath his chin, thinking of the best way to reply.

“I know you’re not… we’re not…” he murmurs, gesturing between them. “And even if we were, it’s not like I’d need your permission to do anything,” he adds and John snorts, his expression conveying he most certainly wouldn’t ever expect so. “But I… I feel…” he takes a deep breath, willing himself to voice his thoughts. “Even though we aren’t bonded, I feel like you’re my Alpha and you deserve to have a say in this matter.”

He closes his eyes and waits with bated breath for John’s response. He’s not quite sure it was the best idea to say such a thing, but he can’t unsay it now and he supposes there are worst ways he could have put it.

“I think,” John says, after a brief pause in which it seems the world is standing still. “What you’re doing for your brother is amazing.” He hesitates, biting his lip but seems to come to a decision soon enough. John stands up and comes to kneel in front of Sherlock’s chair, surprising the Omega. “And you should know that whatever you ever choose to do, now or in the future, it’s fine by me, as long as you let me stand by your side through it.”

As declarations go, Sherlock thinks it’s a good one. And since he can’t possibly top it, he supposes there’s just one thing to do.

He kisses John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the new chapter! Hope you’ll enjoy it!

“So you’ve talked things through?” Greg asks, watching John from the corner of his eye and the doctor nods, a loopy grin taking over most of his face. Greg laughs good-naturedly. “Glad to hear that. We were beginning to think we’d have no other choice but to lock you both inside a cupboard for a couple of days, until you saw sense.”

John throws a glare in his direction, making Greg laugh harder. “Who are “we”, exactly?” the other Alpha asks after a beat and Greg feels like his face is about to split in two due to his exaggerated grin.

“Everyone at the Yard, really,” he replies easily, with a small shrug. “We had a bet going and everything.”

“Oh, some friends you are,” John murmurs darkly, although his eyes are alight with humour. “Who won it, then?”

At this, Greg’s grin becomes even brighter. “You, my friend, have made me a very wealthy man.”

John rolls his eyes once more, amused. “Well then, I suppose you’re paying for the drinks.”

“Least I can do,” Greg agrees, still smiling, clasping a hand over John’s good shoulder. “But really, I’m happy for you guys. And if nothing else comes out of this… well, I’m glad at least it helped to get your heads out of your arses.” John shoves his shoulder playfully while Greg laughs once again. Once he sobers up, they sit in companionable silence for a while, both nursing their respective drinks, lost in their own thoughts. “I hope it works out for you,” John tells him after a while, tone completely serious and Greg’s lips curve upwards once more.

“I hope that too,” he agrees and then frowns a little, as another idea comes to mind. “Are you… are you really quite all right with it? I know Alphas being super possessive is a bit of a stereotype, although there’s some truth in it, the whole instinctual bit about potential offspring…so… you know… you really don’t mind?”

John shrugs casually, taking another sip of his drink. “Not really, no. Sherlock’s eggs, Sherlock’s decision; I’d feel the same even if we were already bonded. And there are no medical concerns I need to worry about so… all is well.” Greg nods thoughtfully and John grins amusedly. “Are you okay with it?” John asks and when Greg just stares at him in confusion, he lets out a chuckle. “I mean… your child would have Holmes’ genes no matter what, but now they’ll have both Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s DNA simultaneously. Are you quite sure you can handle that? Hell, can the _world_ handle that?”

Greg blinks, processing the idea and then takes a long swallow of his drink, making John giggle some more. “I think I might need to reconsider this idea,” he says after a beat, although it’s quite obvious he’s joking and they both break down laughing.

“Well, nothing for it, I suppose,” Greg says, once they can stop laughing. “By the way, welcome to the family, John.”

“We’re not even bonded, let alone married just yet,” the doctor argues, although there’s no real heat behind his words.

In lieu of an answer, Greg just laughs again.

* * *

 

 

Sherlock off suppressants is… quite the experience, really.

John had thought his flatmate was moody on the best of days, now he doesn’t know the words to properly convey how volatile Sherlock’s moods are. It’d be funny, really, if he wasn’t so concerned about his friend’s wellbeing. In his experience, suppressants (or lack of them) don’t really affect Omegas this much; they certainly don’t make them this nervous and irritable.

He wonders if the problem isn’t the withdrawal from the suppressants per se, but the change in their relationship. There are days when nothing seems to have changed between them and there are days when it’s very clear things have changed. Sherlock seems somewhat unsure of how to proceed on some such days, often retreating to his own room when he becomes overwhelmed. John has tried his best not to press, to take things slow, but his own damnable hormones aren’t helping one bit and now that he can smell Sherlock’s actual scent all day long…

Well. _Complicated_ is a bit of an understatement.

“I talked to Molly today,” Sherlock tells him, while they’re sitting on the sofa, the Omega’s thigh bared so John can inject him. The right thigh today, the one with three tiny moles that line up just like Orion’s Belt. John loves those little moles. He tries to keep a professional frame of mind during the whole procedure, he really does, but John can’t help lingering with his looks and touches and Sherlock doesn’t seem inclined to protest, so he supposes that’s quite all right.

“Is there something wrong?” John asks after a slightly too long pause, distracted as he was by Sherlock’s creamy soft skin, the bruising from the injection site just enhancing the pale perfection surrounding it. He looks up then, finding Sherlock watching him with a small fond smile on his lips.

“No,” the younger man replies, shaking his head. “I just… well. She suggested it might be wiser if I were given a special Heat suppressant after the procedure has been done. She thinks that if I go through Heat just after the extraction, there’s a chance there’ll be… complications.”

John wonders, briefly, if Molly really said as much or if Sherlock is just finally admitting to himself that he is concerned about them sharing his Heat. He knows for a fact his partner has never done that before, that his partner has never even had sex before, and so he understands Sherlock might be feeling overwhelmed. They had talked briefly on the subject, and while both had said it was something they’d be interested in, truth to be told, John had been a bit wary of doing it so soon, especially as this Heat would be one brought about by the ovulation medication and not Sherlock’s natural cycle. Honestly, John would much rather Sherlock enjoy his introduction to physical intimacy when he’s ready, rather than be pushed into it abruptly by his biology. This new aspect of their relationship is still in its early stages and there’s no need to put any extra pressure on it. Everything has felt quite natural so far and it’s been quite easy, so there’s no need to complicate things and risk ruining it.

“That sounds wise,” he says after a brief pause, smiling at his partner. “In any case, it’s probably better for us to wait before we… do that.” He feels his cheeks heating up a little and Sherlock smirks, leaning down to steal a quick kiss.

“Don’t be so prudish, John,” Sherlock says, tone full of mischief and John splutters indignantly, although his protests quickly get drowned out by another kiss. Next thing he knows, he’s straddling Sherlock’s lap, kissing his mouth thoroughly, not a single thought about what’s to come crossing his mind.

He has far more pressing matters at hand, after all.

* * *

 

 

When Mycroft feels the bed shifting for what feels like the millionth time, he abandons all pretense of sleep and sits up, turning on the lamp on the side table. Gregory turns to him wide-eyed, startled, as if he truly expected Mycroft to be sound asleep through his very obvious distress.

“Is there something amiss?” Mycroft asks, tone soft and gentle, as if he were talking to a scared animal that would bolt at the slightest provocation. His husband watches him for another beat before shaking his head very slowly.

“Not… exactly,” Gregory murmurs softly, turning on his side so he’s facing him and Mycroft hurries to get in the same position. “I’m just… I know it’s silly, but I’m worried about tomorrow.”

Mycroft hums in acknowledgment, taking his partner’s hand in his. Time tends to slip by when you’re not looking and this last month, since Sherlock presented them with this improbable possibility, has passed far too quickly. One international crisis or another has kept him from worrying overmuch about the whole… procedure, but now that the day for it is just hours away, he won’t deny he’s more than a little anxious, and not just about the medical aspects.

“Why?” he asks finally, hoping that getting his husband to talk will ease his mate’s worry a little and also, since Gregory is much better at this _feelings_ business, Mycroft has discovered it’s easier to work out his own emotions while listening to his partner.

“There’s no real reason,” the Alpha says after a long moment, not looking directly at Mycroft. “I just… If it doesn’t work out…” he trails off awkwardly, shaking his head. “I told you before I don’t mind if we end up not having any kids, that you are all that I truly need to be happy, but this whole month… all the hoping and the expectations being built up…”

Mycroft hums again, examining his own thoughts on the matter. If it doesn’t work out, it’ll be another hard blow, he knows, but-- “Does that mean you don’t want to try it?”

“No!” Gregory exclaims, reaching for him, shaking his head furiously now. “I just… I do. And I really, _really_ hope it works out but… I’m worried.”

Again, the Omega hums thoughtfully, absentmindedly running his fingers over his partner’s knuckles. “There’s very little use in worrying over things we have no actual control over,” he tells him, earning himself a roll of eyes for his troubles. “However… I share the sentiment.” He bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. “But whatever happens… we’ll get through it. Together.”

It seems he has managed to find the right words to say, judging by the grin his husband throws in his direction, before he leans in for a kiss.

All is well, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re nearly at the end of our tale! Hope you’ll enjoy it ;)   
> Also, I forgot I had writen an epilogue... so double update this morning!

The small room in the hospital feels suffocating.

Sherlock looks around futilely. He’s surrounded by bland, beige hospital walls and furnishings and still trying to find something to distract himself with, all the while mentally chiding himself for his foolishness.

He’s nervous, although rationally he knows he has no real reason to feel that way. He’s a little uncomfortable too: it’s been years since he last had a Heat and while he’s in the very early stages of it, artificially triggered or not, he’s beginning to remember quite clearly why he decided not to go through it every other month. He’s grateful that despite his history they’d given him the Diazepam that was standard before a surgical procedure involving general anesthetic; otherwise he’d already be crawling out of his skin.

He can hear people coming and going outside the room and he taps his fingers against his knee. Normally he would try to distract himself by deducing them – who they were, what they were doing - but he can’t focus. He wishes now that John had come in with him, but he had seen how the Alpha had been struggling to keep himself in check. It’s not easy, he knows, being this close to an Omega going into Heat and while John is too much of a decent fellow to even _ think  _ about trying something, Sherlock thought it would be best to ask him to wait outside. He’s regretting that now, though he isn’t sure whether that’s because of the oncoming Heat demanding the presence of the only Alpha he has ever had feelings for or because Sherlock always feels better when John is around. Probably a bit of both.

Just a few minutes more and his part in all of this will be over.

The actual surgical procedure, Molly had explained, shouldn’t last more than ten minutes and while the small incision might hurt for a couple of days, it won’t need too much extra care, just a change of plaster now and then. It would be better not to jostle it, though, she had warned with a knowing look, and she had added that while the special suppressant he’ll be given should cut the Heat to little more than a few hours, his chances of getting pregnant if he has sex are a little higher than normal.

Sherlock does not appreciate the implication. Just because he was under very strict instructions of not engaging in sexual relations for the past several weeks, it doesn’t mean he’s practically  _ dying  _ to have sex. He has held back all of his adult life, thank you very much!

Of course, all that time he was “holding back” he actually hadn’t met anyone he was interested in having sex with, so he figures that played a role too.

He leans back on the uncomfortable bed, entertaining himself with thoughts of his future. (Their future?) He knows he cares for John a great deal and he thinks the Alpha might be that mythical “One” so many novels and films speak about, although it might be too early to be making any monumental decisions, no matter how natural they feel. But, he had felt compelled to ask for John’s input, if not outright permission to donate his eggs after all, and the recent kissing and cuddling (Sherlock shuddered at the word but couldn’t think of a better one) were very nice and not activities that Sherlock would ever engage in with anyone else. Sex is the logical next step. And the day will come when the decision of bonding and having children together will be as natural as breathing, he’s certain of that, so there’s no need to rush. John had said as much himself.

Besides, Molly had said the procedure and subsequent injection will leave him feeling tired and irritable, and not really in the best frame of mind to be doing anything other than sleep and rest as much as possible. There’s also the fact that he has never actually had sex before, so having his first time while under the residual influence of drugs, an interrupted, unnatural Heat and anesthesia, might not be the best idea ever.

The door opens, startling him out of his thoughts and Molly steps in, wearing a pleasant smile. His brother was taken to the operating theatre a while ago and Molly had assured him she’d be back to fetch him personally as soon as they were done with Mycroft.

“How’s my brother?” he asks, knowing there’s really no cause for concern and yet he can’t help the niggling feeling in the back of his head that something could go horribly wrong and that this whole thing had been his idea.

He supposes that’s why he doesn’t like hospitals: things always seem grimmer inside them for some reason.

“He’s doing fine, and the first part of the procedure went well,” Molly tells him. “Once we’re done with you, the rest of the procedure shouldn’t take over an hour and thenhe should be waking up shortly after. Greg is with him right now and considering how… eh…  _ affectionate  _ they were acting when they first arrived, I’d think they both will want to leave the hospital as soon as they can.” Sherlock makes a face; that was way TMI. Judging by Molly’s smile, she knows that already.

Oh, clever. Distracting him like that. Although of course he now has a mental image he never wanted, so he glares at the woman, who just smiles wider.

“John is waiting for you just outside,” Molly adds after a couple of seconds of silence, tone gentle and reassuring. “I’ll bring him to you as soon as you’re out of theatre and back here and I’ve given you that suppressant we spoke about. He’ll be right here when you wake up.” She smiles once again and Sherlock nods, a bit tightly, his nerves somewhat on edge despite the fact he knows he has nothing to fear. “Ready?” she asks, looking him directly in the eye and Sherlock nods once more, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

He’s being rather ridiculous, really.

But he can’t help but to feel a bit nervous.

* * *

  


The trip back home is quiet, unnervingly so and John keeps throwing concerned glances in Sherlock’s direction. The Omega is dozing in his seat, head resting in an awkward angle against the car’s tinted window, practically dead to the world.

The special suppressant seems to have worked quite well, John thinks, because he can’t smell the other man at all. It’s a bit weird, considering how used he had become to his friend’s natural scent, but the truth is that he feels more at ease now. This morning he had felt awfully jittery, the scent of an Omega in Heat, one that he already cared for and was attracted to, driving him insane, although he had done his very best not to let Sherlock know just how affected he was. He’s not quite convinced he succeeded, of course, but he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore.

John leans back in his seat, staring outside the window, mentally calculating how long it’ll be til they’re back home. Molly had said it would be wise to get Sherlock to eat something, even if he insisted he wasn’t hungry and John is trying to decide which of their usual takeaway places might be the best option for tonight. It’d probably be better to feed Sherlock some actually healthy food, but he does know his partner’s opinion on said food.

“Sherlock? We’re here,” he announces, once the car stops outside 221B Baker Street, shaking Sherlock’s shoulder gently, getting a soft protesting sound for his troubles. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair and thinking he’s definitely not young enough for this.

He gets out and hurries to unlock their front door and then goes back to pick up his companion, Mycroft’s minion helpfully having come round to hold open Sherlock’s door. Sherlock is surprisingly heavy, considering how thin he is, but then John supposes he’s also ridiculously tall, so there’s that. He considers for a brief moment asking the driver for a hand but immediately dismisses the idea. Sherlock is his to care for.

As Sherlock makes another sleepy protest, John can’t help the smile that comes unbidden to his lips, thinking his life has turned far away from what he thought it would be when he first came back to London.

And he wouldn’t trade it for the world.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, since, I forgot I had writen an epilogue... double update this morning! Enjoy!

Saying he’s nervous might be a bit of an understatement.

Mycroft looks at his husband, who’s restlessly pacing the small room and he takes a deep breath, willing himself not to say anything. He’s just as anxious to hear the news, but he learned from a very young age to sit still while waiting for news. Pacing doesn’t help one bit and it looks rather undignified.

His phone rings and he huffs after reading Sherlock’s newest message. For the last twenty minutes or so his brother has been sending him text after text, asking for the results of the pregnancy test.

Here’s a little secret Mycroft has no intention of sharing with his husband nor with his brother: he already had a test yesterday. It was one of those cheap ones you can buy at any chemist, but the little box had promised a 98% certainty.

He does not trust the result though. Despite how desperately he wishes to believe it’s correct, he thought it’d be wiser to make sure before saying anything. So he had decided to proceed as they had already agreed and go to the hospital to let the research team do as many tests as they thought necessary.

But the waiting is driving him insane and his husband and his brother aren’t helping one bit.

“Why didn’t he come, again?” Gregory asks, standing in front of him, watching as Mycroft types a text. He hates texting, mostly because it’s an inefficient way of communication and also because it frustrates him how slowly he types.

“A case,” Mycroft answers simply, because that’s the standard answer for Sherlock’s absences. He knows for a fact he was working on a case the day before, but as far as he knows he did solve it last night and is probably just tired so Mycroft doesn’t begrudge him his absence; it just annoys him that he keeps on texting when he has already said he’ll call when he has news.

“Sit down, will you?” he asks his partner once he puts his phone away, patting the space next to where he’s sitting. “Dr. Hooper said they were going to be quite thorough with the tests, so it’s probably going to take a while.”

Gregory nods absentmindedly, but doesn’t sit, resuming his pacing shortly after. Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically but doesn’t comment, simply leaning back on the uncomfortable bench. He considers taking his work phone out so he can get some actual work done, not to mention distract himself, but he quickly discards the idea: he doubts he can focus on anything other than his rising nerves right now.

What’s taking so long, anyway?

A door opens, making them both look in that direction immediately. Dr Hooper pauses briefly, a little startled by the sudden attention and she smiles brightly, approaching them with a spring in her step.

Mycroft lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, thinking the damn cheap test was right.

And isn’t that wonderful?

* * *

 

 

“What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock,” Sherlock responds easily, locking [YAPLC2]   his phone and dropping it on the bedside table once again. He supposes they’ll know when they know, but he’s never been good at waiting. Of course, one could argue that positive news wouldn’t directly benefit him in any way but…

It’s important. He can’t explain how exactly so, but it is.

“Don’t you think you’re a little overinvolved?” John asks, tousled head peeking from underneath the covers. He looks like hell warmed over: a night running through the city after a couple of already sleepless nights and just a quick pause for lunch a day ago tends to leave John the worse for wear.

Sherlock hums, sliding closer to his partner, smiling a little. “Technically, one could argue the baby is one third mine.”

“Does that mean we’ll be on baby minding duty whenever your brother and Greg need some time alone?

Sherlock scrunches his nose in displeasure. “That’s a mental image I didn’t need, thank you very much,” he murmurs in disgust and John laughs, bumping their shoulders together.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he says good-naturedly. “I merely meant, couples need time alone. You know to actually _ talk _ , maybe have a quiet dinner without babies crying in the background…”

Sherlock huffs. “I’ll have you know I was a very well behaved baby. Not quite as placid as Mycroft, according to Mummy, but better behaved than most.” John raises an eyebrow unconvinced and Sherlock huffs once again. “In any case, isn’t that part of the joy of being a parent?”

“Sure,” John replies, “which is why you should get to experience it too.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I’ll have plenty of that once we’ve got children of our own,” he argues sulkily, realizing a second too late just what he has said. He turns to face John, a panicked look on his face, worrying he has crossed a line, but his partner has a soft smile on his face that, combined with his faraway look, tells Sherlock he isn’t exactly opposed to the idea.

“Well, that’s something to look forward to,” John says softly, sitting up, the duvet now pooling at his waist. He’s not wearing a shirt, although Sherlock doesn’t remember either of them undressing the night before and the sight is most distracting. John chuckles, making Sherlock snap back to attention right away. “Eyes up here,” he teases, making the Omega roll his eyes dramatically.

“Since we are in a romantic-slash-sexual relationship, I don’t see why I couldn’t stare,” Sherlock protests, trying to sound dignified, which makes his partner chuckle some more.

“ _ Dating  _ works just fine,” John informs him, slipping out of the bed. “I’ll make us breakfast, what do you say?”

Sherlock stares at him, expression thoughtful. “I think I’d like it better if you just stayed here in bed with me,” he says shyly, his cheeks a soft red hue. Despite all the… progress they’ve made in this last month, things are still new and he doesn’t feel quite sure about where they’re standing just yet.

John smiles fondly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. Sherlock hums in appreciation, pressing forward, making the Alpha chuckle again. “Breakfast first,” his partner announces. “We agreed on no more skipping meals and yet I know for a fact you haven’t eaten anything in a couple of days.”

“But John--” Sherlock tries to protest, but promptly gets silenced by another kiss. He can feel John smiling against his lips and he smiles too, figuring he can let the matter go for now.

Besides, breakfast does sound rather tempting.

* * *

 

 

Of course it’s the case that when Mycroft actually wants to talk to Sherlock, his dear little brother doesn’t answer his damn phone.

He huffs, although it’s more for show than anything else. He does remember entirely too well his and Gregory’s honeymoon-stage, where they could barely keep their hands to each other when they happened to be in public and it was a completely lost cause when they were at home alone.

He looks at his husband, a fond smile on his lips. Of course their relationship has settled into something much more comfortable and a little less… well, no. He wouldn’t say it’s less passionate, but they don’t feel the constant urge to jump each other’s bones the second they have some time alone, although they do make good use of their time together. But there comes a time in every relationship, he thinks, when just cuddling can be as amazing as a sex marathon.

Still, sex marathons are quite fun now that he thinks about it.

“Something on your mind?” Gregory asks, finally noticing the way he’s staring at him and Mycroft’s lips curve upwards, but he shrugs casually, prompting a curious look from the other man.

“My brother isn’t answering his phone,” he announces, tone serious and Gregory stares at him with a little frown on his face.

“Do you want to drop by his flat? I did take the day off, so maybe--”

Mycroft scrunches his nose in displeasure. “There are certain sights no older brother should be subjected to,” he says and his partner’s frown deepens, making Mycroft rolls his eyes dramatically. Gregory laughs, finally catching up with him. “No, what I meant was… do you recall the early days of our relationship?”

Gregory hums, sliding closer to him on the car’s seat, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I do, yeah,” he agrees, pulling him towards him and Mycroft is entirely too happy to snuggle closer. “Although to be frank, I find what we currently have much more… eh…  _ emotionally fulfilling.” _ Mycroft can’t help the giggle that escapes him and he scowls at the undignified noise, although it makes his husband smile brightly at him. “Which does not mean I would oppose to a weekend away, just the two of us, no clothing involved…”

Mycroft chuckles. “It might be a good idea. I doubt we’ll get the chance once the baby is born.”

Gregory smiles, bright as the sun and Mycroft’s heart flutters in his chest. His husband’s hand comes to rest on his belly, his touch butterfly light, expression difficult to describe but unmistakenly happy and he can’t help wondering how did he get so lucky.

Not that it matters, he supposes.

After all, love has little to do with luck.

* * *

 

 

_ Should I expect a happy announcement by the end of the week? Mummy would be thrilled, no doubt. _

Sherlock huffs, a small fond smile on his lips as he contemplates his answer. By no stretch of the imagination can one claim he and John have been together long enough to even be contemplating a much more permanent arrangement, but the truth is that he’s been turning the idea inside his head ever since they got together. It just makes sense, he thinks and based on what he has observed he doubts John would say no but--

There’s no need to rush, he knows. At the same time though, he doesn’t see why they should wait.

**_Perhaps._ **

There’s a long pause after that and Sherlock wonders if his answer truly was such a surprise for his brother. He thinks he’s been quite transparent about his feelings; it might not be obvious to the casual observer, but it should be crystal clear to someone as observant as Mycroft. Then again, sentiment has never been his forte so…

_ I look forward to it. _

Ah. Well. Not as surprising then. And while the text is short, Sherlock can read his brother’s affection and how happy and proud he is.

_ Do try to give me some notice so I can plan something, even if it’s a very small thing. Mummy will have a fit if you elope too. _

Sherlock laughs, earning himself a puzzled look from John, who is watching the telly. At his boyfriend’s look he shakes his head, smiling fondly and the Alpha shrugs, probably figuring it’s not terribly important.

**_I’ll try_ ** he writes back, although it’s not really a promise he intends to keep.

After all, the heart keeps its own time and there’s really no use in trying to control it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter! Enjoy!

It’s a beautiful day for a wedding. Of course it’s pouring rain outside and practically freezing and really, they couldn’t have asked for worse weather, but Sherlock is blind to it all, entirely too caught up with the fact that  _ he’s getting married _ .

He inspects his reflection in the mirror for what feels like the hundredth time and his mating bite catches his eye. In truth, a conventional marriage isn’t strictly necessary considering their bond is a far more binding commitment and they’ve been bonded for a little over a year, but John’s a traditional man, and Sherlock wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea.

He grins like a maniac, leaning closer to the mirror to examine the mark. It healed quite nicely although it had become infected after some… inadvisable experimenting on his part. John had been furious, of course, but Sherlock had been curious. There’s next to no information on the subject of how mating bites actually work—how do they heal so quickly and why do they change the Omega’s scent so permanently, along with several other questions it had been Sherlock’s intention to figure out and since Molly and Dr Robins hadn’t been exactly willing to bend the rules for his sake on the subject of human experimentation ( _ again _ ) Sherlock had figured it wouldn’t be a problem if he did some research on his own. In his mind, the gains outweighed the cons by far, although nor John, nor Molly (nor anyone, really) had agreed with him.

John now thinks his new work as a researcher on Molly’s project might prove more dangerous than his previous one as consulting detective, but Sherlock knows he’s just being overprotective. It’s natural, he supposes, considering they’re bonded-- while there are not that many studies on the subject (something he aims to correct soon too) it has been proven that bonded Omegas produce different pheromones that make their Alphas even more ridiculously territorial, increasing their already intense protectiveness.

_ Biology,  _ he thinks, scrunching his nose a little.  _ Who would have thought my own could actually prove to be interesting? _

A knock on the door pulls him out of his musings and he goes to stand behind it, pressing his back against it to keep it closed. “John!” he exclaims playfully, a smile already on his lips. “We’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding!”

“Good thing I came upon Dr. Watson lurking in the corridor and sent him on his merry way, then,” his brother’s voice comes from the other side of the door and Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Must you ruin everything for me?” Sherlock asks, opening the door and glaring at his brother, although there’s no real heat in it.

Mycroft scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I left you two to it, you’d never show up to the ceremony.”

Fair enough. “We’d show up eventually,” he comments off handedly, making his brother roll his eyes. Before either can say anything else, a delighted squeal coming from the hallway prompts them both out of the room, turning in the general direction of the sound.

“Gregory!” Mycroft exclaims, picking up their daughter, who huffs in indignation at being stopped from wandering on her own. “You were supposed to look after her.”

Lestrade comes around the corner, looking quite out of breath. “I was! I got distracted for one second and next thing I knew…”

“Down!” the ginger-haired toddler exclaims rather imperiously, her small hand slapping Mycroft’s arm. “Daddy, down!”

“There’ll be no more wandering around, young lady,” he informs her very seriously, earning himself a pout. “That will not work on me, Faith.”

She pouts harder, just to be contrarious, Sherlock suspects and Mycroft sighs, turning to him. “This is all your fault. You’ve been spoiling her rotten.”

“My fault?” Sherlock exclaims dramatically, winking at Faith which makes her giggle. “It’s not our fault your daddy is such a grumpy old man, is it, my little bee?” he asks, poking the girl’s side, making her giggle some more, squirming in her father’s arms.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft chides, struggling to keep hold of his squirming child, which of course just encourages Sherlock. Defeated, he has no choice but to put her down or risk being kicked.

For such a small child, Faith certainly has a mean kick.

Sherlock grins, pleased with himself. In truth, Faith doesn’t resemble him much, except for the curls that can also be blamed on Mycroft, although he makes sure to keep his own mostly unnoticeable. She looks like Lestrade mostly, since she has his eyes and his nose, although when it comes to her personality…

She and Sherlock share a conspiratorial smile, before she slips past the adults once more, rushing down the hall. Mycroft and Lestrade hurry after her, having completely forgotten about Sherlock, calling for their daughter who just has too much energy to stay still for very long, particularly considering all the other guests are too old and boring for her.

“I admit, that was particularly sneaky of you,” John says, appearing around the corner, grinning broadly. Sherlock smirks, hurrying to pull him into his dressing room, closing the door after them.

“I told you. Foolproof.”

John laughs, kissing him enthusiastically and Sherlock thinks that yes, they’re going to be oh-so-very-late to their wedding. “I’m still unsure whether Faith taking after you is a good thing or not.”

Sherlock laughs too, pulling John close. “Well, as long as our own children aren’t such menaces…”

In lieu of a response, John just laughs again.

* * *

 

 

“Two hours!” Mycroft exclaims, rather frustratedly. “Who arrives late to their own wedding by two bloody hours?!” They’re on their way back home now and he’s not feeling very charitable towards his brother, since he had to play the role of the charming host and had been left alone to deal with their very annoyed parents.

“Well, at least they arrived together and smiling,” Gregory argues good-naturedly, making soft cooing noises when Faith begins to stir. “Otherwise rumours of cold feet might have been put about and your mother would have thrown a wobbly.”

Mycroft huffs. “Bad enough that they bonded without giving anyone any notice…”

“Oh, hush you. Or have you forgotten that we hid the fact we were bonded for six months and then eloped?”

Mycroft huffs once more, knowing his husband has a point.

“Exactly,” he argues petulantly. “Which is why Sherlock needed to do things properly to appease Mummy. I’ve always played the role of the perfect son, it was his turn to do things by the book.”

Gregory rolls his eyes fondly, rocking Faith a little since she keeps protesting in her sleep. “Well, at least this little whirlwind fell asleep during the wait.” He leans closer, pecking Mycroft’s lips. “Was Sherlock such a handful when he was her age?”

Mycroft scrunches his nose. “Worse, I’d say.” His husband snorts and he smiles back fondly. “Not that I’d have changed him for the world. And neither would I change her, of course.”

Gregory hums. “Indeed. But look at her; she looks so cute when she’s asleep. Almost makes you wish for another one, huh?”

“On occasion,” Mycroft admits. “There are still six viable frozen eggs in the possession of the research team. Perhaps, if you wish…” The pregnancy itself had been quite nerve- wracking, with Mycroft constantly worrying about something going wrong, in particular some bleeding in the first trimester that almost gave him a heart attack, but…

“Mycroft,” Gregory murmurs, placing a hand gently on his elbow, awkwardly holding Faith with just one arm. “If you really want to, we can try, but I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” he says, smiling. “But I think… I do think I’d like to try again.”

His husband smiles, bright as the sun and Mycroft can’t help the urge to kiss him, so he does, mindful not to upset his sleeping daughter.

“Maybe after John and Sherlock come back after their  _ sex-holiday _ , we could leave Faith with them for a little holiday of our own, huh?”

Well, it does sound like a wonderful plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> As usual, it's been a joy to get to share this little tale with you. A million thanks to everyone who read, left kudos and/or commented! Also, a million thanks to the lovely Lesley (@gobacktobakerstreet on tumblr) for the prompt and for beta-ing. I wouldn't have done it without you dear!  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> This was a tricky subject for me, far from my usual thing, but I enjoyed the process a great deal and I’m happy with the end result. Also, my medical knowledge is basically 0 and while my lovely auction winner/beta helped me a great deal with it, I apologise if any mistakes remain ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?  
> PS. I’ll be posting one chapter in the morning and one in the afternoon so the whole fic might be finished before the 15th.
> 
> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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